


Self Care

by Ravenmaster



Category: Deadpool (Movieverse), Spider-Man: Into the Spider-Verse (2018)
Genre: (sort of), First Meeting, Hurt/comfort kinda?, Love at First Sight, M/M, Peter is a sad blob who meets another sad blob, Post Into the Spider-Verse, They're Both Not In A Great Place, disaster humans, sad sex, someone give these idiots a hug
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-17
Updated: 2019-05-17
Packaged: 2020-03-06 23:36:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,806
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18861244
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ravenmaster/pseuds/Ravenmaster
Summary: After the events of Into the Spider-Verse, Peter shows up on MJ's doorstep with a bouquet and a heart full of hope.Then he goes to have a burger, with a bouquet and a stomach full of sadness (and burger). Turns out he's not the only one eating his feelings.





	Self Care

**Author's Note:**

> So this is a really short thingy I pooped out because I've been stuck in this writer's block rut for ages now so it's really just a snippet but I thought I'd share anyway. Have some disaster humans.

Peter B. Parker didn’t believe in love at first sight.

 

No, let’s start over: Peter B. Parker didn’t believe in romantic love at first sight. There were different kinds of love, and sure, there were plenty of loves that could happen at first sight. A parent with their baby. Seeing a random dog in the park. A soggy burger wrapped in greasy paper when you’re really, really hungry.

 

“Thanks,” he told Ms. Alrez, who’d already moved on to the next customer without a second look. One of the perks of this place; people here just didn’t care. There were rarely any customers who stuck around to eat in, most just hopped in and out, and everyone who did stick, just stayed in their own bubble.

 

Peter needed a bubble right now. A thick one. A metal bubble.

 

Plastic chair legs scraped noisily over the tiles of the floor as he sat down in the corner, leaving one empty table between him and the only other customer who’d decided to sit down. And then it was quiet again.

 

Until it wasn’t. 

 

“Nice flowers,” said the Other Guy, with a weirdly cheerful tone. “But if you’re planning on wooing Sonia over there, I think she’ll probably get a little stabby.”

 

_ Who the hell makes conversation with a stranger in New York City? _ Peter narrowed his eyes at his burger, refused to look up. “They’re not for her,” he shut him down.

 

But the guy was unshuttable. “Ooh, lemme guess. You’re going on a date after this, to one of those restaurants where you get one grape per course.”

 

Now, Peter did look up - and his Spidey sense immediately went off as he did. The man across the room from him was dressed in a hoodie and some sweatpants, had about seven empty burger wrappers in front of him, and although his face was partially hidden by the hoodie, it was clear to see that he was heavily scarred.

 

Something about his smile was just a little bit off, and Peter, like the disaster human that he apparently was (so, so deeply), realized it was kind of intriguing. 

 

“Uh,” said Peter, with the wisdom of a thirty-something divorcee. Staring.

 

The man stared right back. Seconds passed. “Are you okay?”

 

Peter blinked once, twice. “No.” Wait, what was the question? “I mean, yeah, sure, no, I mean, no, I’m not going on a date. I sort of just came back from one.” 

 

“With flowers,” the guy pointed out.

 

“They were for her,” Peter explained, which wasn’t really an explanation at all, but it was true nevertheless.

 

The man brought his hands together underneath his chin, like that Sherlock Holmes guy. “But she already had them, so you’re returning them?”

 

Peter could still see her apologetic face in the doorway, right before that  _ Nick _ guy showed up to see who was standing outside.  _ “Oh, Pete, I wish you’d called… Um, Nick, I told you about Peter, right? Pete, this is Nick, my boyfriend.” _

 

He looked at the flowers. The flowers mockingly made it a staring contest; they won.

 

“I guess,” he shrugged it off, then unwrapped his burger with the speed and precision of a practiced depression binger, and dug in. Maybe if he didn’t look back up at this guy again, he’d leave him alone and he could just wallow in his sadness here, like he really, really wanted to.

 

But no. “I’ll take ‘em if you don’t want them. Could really add a pop of color to my apartment, I think it’d match really well with all the bloodstains.”

 

Peter’s chewing slowed, stopped. Without swallowing: “Wi’ all ‘e wha?”

 

“Bloodstains,” the man repeated, without even altering his tone or anything. 

 

“Oh.” Okay. He felt his Spidey sense blare like a car alarm in full force. Bloodstains weren’t good in any apartment, generally speaking. This was probably the part where he should grab his stuff and leave. Maybe tail this guy for a little while over the next few weeks. Make sure he wasn’t a killer, and if he was, get him arrested.

 

And maybe he would’ve done all that. Maybe, if the Clever Decisions department of his brain had been functioning, that would’ve been exactly what he’d done. He would have gotten up, left, eaten the rest of his burger on the subway, and eventually - probably - gotten Wade Wilson off the streets. But that wasn’t what happened.

 

What happened was that the guy pulled his hoodie back, uncovering his bald, scarred head, that same slightly unstable grin, and the most intriguing eyes Peter had ever seen, and said: “Wanna see them?”

 

And Peter, like the disastrous fucking trainwreck that he was, felt everything fall away. The walls, the windows, the people, the grease smell and those horrible plastic chairs, his heart literally skipping a beat, until it was just him and the man sitting ten feet away. The man with the eyes. The man with the eyes that he wanted to dive into and just drown in.

 

“Sure,” he heard himself say.

 

And that’s where it began.

 

\-----

 

Wade hadn’t had a guest over in a long time. It had been far, far longer since he’d had a guest over that he wanted to get to know as badly as this weird, weary-eyed man who could eat a burger in three bites and brought flowers to inappropriate places.

 

“I’m Peter,” he’d introduced himself during their weirdly silent walk over to Wade’s place.

 

“Wade,” Wade had replied.

 

“Okay.” 

 

And they kept on walking. To Wade’s place.

 

Silently.

 

But now, here they were, and when Wade switched on the lights, he could feel a surge of adrenaline course through his body. Because this was insane. No, this was more than insane; he had done a significant number of insane things in his life, and never had he taken a random guy home to show him the bloodstains in his apartment. 

 

Which couldn’t be the actual reason he came along with him, but he couldn’t for the love of him imagine what that reason  _ could _ be.

 

“Your place is a mess,” Peter said, but there wasn’t any judgement in his voice.

 

So Wade wasn’t offended. “Sure is.”

 

A weird silence followed, as Peter’s posture shifted from weirdly calm to weirdly uncomfortable. “I don’t know what on earth I’m doing here.”

 

Right. Wade nervously scratched at his arm, his nails catching some small scabs and ripping them open. Yay. Cancer. “Neither do I.”

 

But Peter didn’t turn around and leave. He just stood there. Staring at the mess of Wade’s apartment. 

 

And then he opened his mouth, hesitated, and blurted out: “My life is a fucking mess right now.”

 

Wade snorted. Really unattractively. A little bit of snot came out, even - he wiped it away with his sleeve. “So is mine, join the club.”

 

But Peter didn’t laugh. He just did a sort of painful half smile, half grimace, and rubbed at the stubble on his cheeks. “I bet you mine’s worse.”

 

Wade’s eyebrows shot up. “You’re on. Fifty bucks says I’m worse.”

 

This did earn him a laugh, even if it sounded weird. And tired. “I divorced the love of my life.”

 

Wade saw the defeated pain on Peter’s face. Made him look like he was a billion years old. “My fiancée got shot to death,” he countered.

 

He had sort of expected pity, maybe, but Peter just crossed his arms. “My ex has got a new boyfriend and he’s younger, taller, and makes way more money.”

 

“My face looks like  _ this _ ,” Wade pointed out.

 

“I’m pretty sure they’re engaged  _ already _ .”

 

“I brought my girl back from the dead, and then my half metal time travel boyfriend went and  _ undid _ that,” Wade countered.

 

That did earn him some raised eyebrows, but then Peter narrowed his eyes. “I had to leave my mentee-slash-surrogate-son behind in another dimension and I have no idea if he’s okay.”

 

Now, that was something. “You’re bullshitting.”

 

Peter shrugged. “Maybe. Or maybe I’m just really more of a mess than you are.”

 

Right. 

 

Maybe he was.

 

“That’s kind of hot,” Wade heard himself say, as they were standing there, in the door opening of his messy, disastrous, tiny apartment.

 

And Peter looked at him, with those dark-circled eyes, scruffy stubble and the aura of a man who had been beaten down by life just a little too much - looked at him like he could  _ see _ something there, like there was something he could hold onto in that crater face Wade had -

 

\- grabbed him by said crater face, and smashed their mouths together without any finesse. Hard.

 

“Ow,” Peter hissed, immediately pulling back. “Sorry. Sorry.”

 

Wade just stared. Neither of them moved. 

 

“You really are fucked, huh?” he muttered, his voice rough now, and Peter looked up at him.

 

Never had there been more beautiful eyes than those of the weird, lost man in front of him. 

 

So Wade kissed him back.

 

It all went better from that point. Their mouths still moved too roughly, their hands were awkward, touching too little and still holding onto too much, and they kept tripping over things as they moved through Wade’s shithole apartment. Wade accidentally bit down once as he slipped on a pizza box and split Peter’s lip in the process. It didn’t matter.

 

It didn’t matter, because none of it felt real anymore. Gone was the stale smell of unventilated bedroom. Gone was the bleak street light falling through the unwashed window. Gone were the questions, gone was the talking, gone were their discarded clothes on the floor.

 

“So we’re doing this,” Wade just barely managed to whisper against Peter’s lips, as they sat down on the bed, crawling on top of him. 

 

Peter nipped harshly at Wade’s bottom lip. “Yeah.”

 

A rough shiver went down Wade’s spine, and his fingers clawed at Peter’s back. “Do you always -  _ ah _ … always fuck the people you meet at fast food restaurants?”

 

Peter’s hand went down to Wade’s ass, and he squeezed when Wade brought his mouth down to his neck and sucked a hickey on his skin. “People kept telling me I needed a new hobby, I’m just trying things.”

 

Wade’s head was swimming at this point, and he was both in love and terrified by it. “You know, in a way, making out with trainwrecks is self care.” 

 

Peter’s stubble tickled on his scars as he grinned, his hands moving to squeeze a whole different part of Wade, who sucked in a sharp breath through his teeth. “Yeah, let’s stick with that. Self care.” 

 

“Self care,” Wade agreed.

 

\------

 

Peter B. Parker didn’t believe in love at first sight, but with a really strange man sweat-stuck to his chest in a lumpy bed, he did realize that there was something at first sight, and he was very, very ready to enjoy that something.


End file.
